


Strange, Beloved, and Absent

by Meridians_of_Madness



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Heartbreak, M/M, Master/Pet, Pet Play, Pining, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), petting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:54:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24517990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meridians_of_Madness/pseuds/Meridians_of_Madness
Summary: Crowley nurses a sore heart by spending some time as Satan's beloved pet snake.Filled for the kink meme prompt foundhere.
Relationships: Crowley/Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 169





	Strange, Beloved, and Absent

Crowley was in no mood to deal with anyone's shit that afternoon, so the moment the elevator hit the most bottom floor possible, he dropped heavily to the ground, traded stride for slither, and moved on as a big fuck-off snake.

The nice thing about being a big fuck-off snake was that no one got in your way- a quarter-ton of constriction power and a 40 millisecond strike-speed tended to be a very good last word even in Hell, and after he won the first few arguments, most people below the rank of a marquis didn't care to try their luck.

Honestly, Crowley's mood was foul enough that he was a little sorry that no one got in his way, but that was likely for the best. No matter how frustrating the world or how insufferable angels could be, he didn't really want to stay in Hell for very long.

That changed, however, when he went to pick up his assignment from Dagon, who gave him a flat and slightly disdainful look.

“Himself took residence today,” Dagon said with irritation. “Figures you're all dressed up.”

Crowley miracled the papers back up to his flat abovestairs, hissing in surprise.

“Oh yeah, just got in this morning. You didn't know? Thought that was why you actually showed up to deliver your papers on time and... oh hey, wait, come back here, you've still got to sign-”

There was nothing in the world that was going to keep him mucking about with papers and forms and Dagon if Satan had returned, not when Crowley felt this raw and this brittle.

_Thank Someone, he's back, he's been gone for what, eighty years this time? He's back, he's back, he'll make this better..._

He came to the pearl door where two very nervous demons stood guard. Crowley carefully dodged the half-dried pool of blood, hissing an inquiry as he did so.

One of the guards winced.

“It was Johnson. He's only been on door duty a few decades and did the standard _stand and deliver_ bit. His Dishonor was not best pleased.”

Crowley hissed at that, and the demon shook his head.

“Oh, nah, Just got his head torn off and bounced down the hall. Reincorporation will likely have him back in a few years. I suppose you'll want in?”

Hiss.

It was properly against protocol, but Crowley had been getting away with this particular badness for ages, almost since the beginning. The guard nodded and opened the door just enough for Crowley to slither in, closing it with a firm snap after him.

Satan's rooms were dimly cavernous and gothic as might be supposed, the chill of the sitting room held back by a hearth that ran the full length of the far wall. It came to Crowley that with the bookcases and the comfortable single chair, Satan's quarters reminded him more than a little of Aziraphale's shop, and he pushed that thought aside. He was here. He wasn't meant to be doing much thinking. It wasn't called for or necessary.

Crowley was just nosing the warm tiles by the fire, investigating how close he could get before the heat became painful, when he became aware of a lowering presence behind him. He turned just in time for Satan to kneel by beside him, running a firm hand from the base of his neck down his spine.

“What a pleasure it is to see you again, my heart,” said Satan quietly.

In this guise, Satan was a bone-narrow man, strangely colorless and with features as sharp as a good hatchet. Taller than Crowley in his human form, he moved with an easy soundless grace, and he held one hand out, palm down, as if Crowley were a real snake that might bite him.

Crowley let his tongue flicker out inquisitively, bringing back the scents of blood and sorrow and marble and char, and he decided that he liked it well enough to butt his nose against Satan's fingers, letting them trace the delicate pits that ran along his mouth.

“Oh, you are friendly tonight?” asked Satan, amused. “You want attention, you terrible thing?”

He did, and he pushed his face against Satan's hand more firmly, because he was a snake, and all he wanted in all the world was warmth and pressure, certainly not anything else.

Satan made a soft humorous sound at his demand and stood up, stretching one hand down to Crowley.

“Do you remember how, darling? Come on, up. Up.”

Satan made a soft clicking sound with his tongue against his teeth, and Crowley reared to wind himself around first his arm and then his shoulders. It was a ponderous thing to wrap himself completely around the first fallen, curling around his lean form as if he were the most perfect tree. If Satan was a human or even a common demon, Crowley's weight and the strength of his coils would have crushed him, but of course he wasn't. Instead, Crowley could cling exactly as he liked, and Satan stood easily with Crowley's coils lapped around him, Crowley chin resting on his shoulder, the tip of Crowley's tail pushed cheekily into his trousers pocket to anchor himself.

“What a good boy who remembers his tricks,” Satan said, pleased. He turned his head to drop a dry gentle kiss on the top of Crowley's head, settling one hand on the coil by his waist.

They were quiet together for a while, Satan pacing the confines of his rooms, Crowley curled tight around him, occasionally tickling Satan's jaw with his tongue for reassurance. Every time he did so, Satan reached up to scratch him gently under the jaw, an absent gesture of affection that was precisely what Crowley could bear at the moment.

Through lidless eyes, Crowley watched as Satan circled the cavernous space, touching the walls, the spines of his books, the old and enormous bones mounted on the walls. There was a thoughtful distance to the way he moved, as if he were remembering how to be someone he had half-forgotten. No one, not even Crowley, knew what he was about when he was away from Hell, and sometimes when he returned, it could take a few years before he was really _back._

Finally, he came to sit in front of the fire, not on the chair but on the hearth, his legs crossed tailor fashion and his face turned towards the flame. By that point, Crowley had relaxed by bits and by inches, and the rest of the tension went out of him as Satan stroked his spine, murmuring admiration for the gleam of his black scales and the perfect crimson of his belly.

Finally, he sighed, and it wasn't a snake coiled around Satan at all but a red-haired man-shaped thing, all arms and legs wrapped tight to Satan's body with his face pressed tight to Satan's throat. The fallen's hand was a heavy grounding presence at the back of his neck, and if his employer was surprised at the change, he didn't show it.

“Another heartbreak?” he inquired, and Crowley made a disconsolate sound, clinging harder.

Satan sighed, lifting Crowley so he was seated more firmly on his lap.

“Poor thing,” he said. “If I had known hearts were so fragile, I would never have given them to anyone.”

Crowley laughed a little at that.

“You didn't give us hearts.”

“Didn't I?”

“Doubt it, anyway. Doesn't seem quite your style, sir.”

He could feel Satan smile at his insolence. There were perhaps two or three demons who could get away with cheeking the king of Hell, and every time he did it, Crowley felt a little thrill at being so brave and so loved.

“Hm. Perhaps not. But you, Crowley. I gave you gifts. I remember that. Do you?”

“I do, sir. Lots of them.”

“And you're going to go on throwing them in front of the eastern guardian as if they were nothing.”

“Don't,” Crowley pleaded. “Don't be disappointed in me, please.”

Satan sighed, ruffling the hair at the back of his neck with his fingernails.

“I never could be, sweetheart. I never am.”

“I'm fragile t'day,” Crowley declared, and it didn't matter because who the hell wasn't, compared to Satan?

“Oh, I see. And therefore I must be very kind and gentle with you.”

“If you want to be,” Crowley said, looking down.

“I do. Of course I do.”

They sat like that for a while, Crowley's head buzzing softly with the low undercurrent of power that constantly radiated from Satan's presence, his body warming from the flames and the affection. He was almost asleep when his pocket chirped, and he jumped. Hell got universally bad reception except in Satan's quarters, and he reached for his phone with a frown.

He read the message, an apology and an invitation, and Satan laughed at him.

“Are you going to forgive him so quickly?”

“Not this time,” Crowley said, standing up from Satan and pocketing his phone. “I'm gonna make him grovel for it.”

“Are you?”

Crowley sighed.

“Probably not. Probably just going to see him and lose my heart all over again.”

“It's what they're for,” Satan said with a ghost of something kind in his smile. There were barbs at the bottom of that smile if you went too deep, but Crowley made it a point never to do so.

“Anyway... um. Thanks. I'm glad you're back.”

Satan climbed to his feet, giving Crowley a quick hard hug before pulling back to look at him. They could see each other eye to eye, and there was something like pride in Satan's dark gaze.

“Best beloved,” Satan said. “I should do you a favor and take that heart from you, but then you would not be yourself. I could not stand it if you were not yourself.”

Crowley smiled, because if Satan ever did take his heart, he wouldn't be able worry about what he had lost after it went missing. He leaned in, pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Satan's mouth, and then he was gone.


End file.
